


Home

by esmeraldablazingsky, Galeos



Category: Boruto, Naruto
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kisame and Itachi adopt Shizuma and accidentally all of his friends too, M/M, Mostly an excuse to describe their house, everyone lives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12623400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/pseuds/esmeraldablazingsky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galeos/pseuds/Galeos
Summary: Like most things relating to the Hoshigaki family, Kagura couldn't work out if their home was comforting or frightening.





	1. Chapter 1

Like most things relating to the Hoshigaki family, Kagura couldn't work out if their home was comforting or frightening.

He’s really not sure why he accepted Shizuma’s offer to join the rest of the gang for dinner, let alone at his house. Playing cards at the warehouse was one thing, but this was outside Kirigakure, outside his world - for all he knew they night not even be in the Land of Water anymore. Still….it’s been a month since his last B rank - but he should have some mission rations leftover before digging through the couch for coins to go shopping tomorrow. And Chojuro must have talked to the electricity company after they kept turning off his heating (though Buntan had smiled at him more that week).

They weave through trees so thick and clustered that the snowflakes barely touch them - except for one of them grabs yet another branch to dump snow on eachother (Shizuma gets the worst of it as he has dry clothes waiting for him, but then again he probably started it). As the snowless branches spring back, his eyes snap up. There’s rustling further up, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword as he watches shadows jump from branch to branch. His ‘sword’ - little more than a branch itself

In an instant, the talk and the crunch of snow stops, and as the snow swallows up the sound he can feel his throat tighten. Then Shizuma lets out a sharp, rasping cry and the night explodes with caws. The crackling screeches echo over the beating of wings as the world splits into the white of the snow below and the black of the crows above. Shizuma’s silhouette cocks his head slightly, as if trying to find a message in the screeching. He calls out thanks and takes them through a new set of twists and turns through the trees until a burst of cold wind hits their faces as they step through the trees.

Looking back, Kagura thinks he might have been expecting something out of the stories, a gleaming crystal palace beneath the waves. Or something like Blood Prison (Hoozuki Castle, he corrects himself), a stone fortress surrounded by roaring waves thousands of leagues from the ocean. Instead, the two story house standing alone in the clearing is almost cottage like, but as they get closer becomes fittingly more eerie. The gleaming black roof tiles, sharpened to a point, overlap like rows of feathers - or, with their coating of thick snow, teeth. Tracks of little footprints from the crows criss cross along the frosted surface. Lights burn in the window, but within he can make out nothing but swirling mist. Shizuma rolls his eyes, complaining about how it’s just his parents going over the top (Kagura is glad he can’t see the sudden grin in the shadows) as few would be able to make it this far. It doesn’t seem to be the only incident of their caution - the almost humble cottage seems to swell as they approach, and as they scramble up the stairs the porch awning is far above even Kyohou’s head.

As they huddle under the porch, they all reach into their bags for keys, arguing over whose hands are the least frozen. Kagura is half expecting to find a Jolly Rodger on the welcome mat, before remembering that it is the red flag, not the black, that acts as a warning - ‘surrender or die’. He shuffles his feet against the crimson fabric as he listens to the whirl and click of traps disarming. He's 90% sure that the door knocker has a face but barely has time to glance at it before the door swings open at the lightest touch. Even Kyohou barely needs a well practiced duck of his head to get through the gaping double doors.

As the group shove their shoes into the pigeon holes lining the walls, it's the most normal of things that throws Kagura. Between the leather jackets and colourful scarves are sets of dog leashes and spiked collars. Experience had taught him to be wary at Kiri nin's classification of pets, and had all but given up arguing with Shizuma that not only was Paw Paw not a beagle puppy, but that she didn't even have paws (or ears, as Shizuma had reached over the cover the holes behind the shark's hollow eyes). He tried to imagine him (or any of his friends) with a creature with neither feathers or scales and came up blank. It seemed more believable that the spiked collars were Shizuma's. Or Buntan's. Or Hebiichigo's.

The packs he spots in the pigeon holes closest to the door are also eerily familiar, and as he knowingly fumbles with the buttons and zips on his snow soaked shoes he goes through the supplies listed on the tag.

Tent. Sleeping bag. Heat packs. Water. Two months of rations. Medical kit. Map. Compass. Knives.

Mission supplies packed, always stocked and ready to run. He remembers Shizuma's story about how they'd found him, how they'd wandered the mountains of Kirigakure with a gurgling baby as winter approached and the mist thickened. How many years had the pair spent on the run? 8 years? A decade? More? Almost unthinkable - even with the hunter nin gone (Shizuma's lips tighten and head turns slightly when he mentions it) they still drill in the average survival time for missing nin. Most are dead within months, and at three years, even the most cautious are driven mad by the always watching, the always moving, and chose home over safety. Even if they had exceeded the odds, even if the packs they had once lived out of were covered in dust, they were ready.

He thinks of Kirigakure, cold and closed but there, always there, and wonders if he pities these criminals' shadows who once fled from the familiar.

It is only then that he notices that both the cold and the quiet are gone.There's the chatter of the group, but beneath it a murmur made of the creaking of chains, the clink of porcelain and the crackle of burning firewood. He steps up onto the floorboards, looks up from his reflection in the mirror, and remembers to be uneasy.

The high, arched ceiling disappears into blackness where the glowing paper lanterns, seemingly floating in the air, can not reach. In the shadows, he thinks he can see the outline of nests, and hear the faint fluttering of feathers. Thick rolls of scarlet fabric are wrapped around the rafter, where chains of persimmons hang drying on wires, frosted with sugar. Countless faces grin down from the walls and ceiling - scowling crimson goblins with long, blade-like noses, ivory demons with gleaming horns and fangs. The masks unnerved him more than the bones hanging near them - the set of tiny skulls kept him distracted by trying to work out what on earth they were, with their sharp pincers wrapped outside their teeth, and the bull skull was lightned by the striped bandana that had been tied around its horns. His eyes followed one of the hanging chains down the wall, barely pausing at the hanging wall scrolls, to the kettle dangling over the sunken fire pit.The gang was already there, some taking the heated pebbles ringing the flames and turning them over in their hands, others burying themselves in the fluffy grey cushions that overflowed from the hollow egg-like woven nests hanging from the ceiling. A few had squished together on the arched sofa in the corner, wrapping themselves in the stripy knitted blankets draped over it. Kagura sinks onto the cushions ringing the fire next to Ichirouta, freezing legs crying out in gratitude, and continues his survey of the room.

A world map dominates most of the wall, the kunai pinning it there gleaming red in the firelight. He can’t see how the map would still be of use - years of pins, lines and scribbled notes mark out where they’d been, sometimes in a clear path, sometimes appearing from nowhere. Layers of discs and tapes are stacked into the wall beneath the television, though dwarfed by the open nook filled with row upon row of firewood and kindling. On the opposite wall, a fortress of stacked up peach crates served as a bookcase, packed with books, scrolls and knick knacks. He’s trying to understand the little pieces of rubbish between the whittled sculptures and chunks of bleached coral when he hears footsteps behind them, and feels the conscious effort they made to make noise.

He'd seen pictures of them both when they were younger, wanted posters pinned to street vendors and late night broadcasts of the news. And then he had heard stories from Shizuma, part affectionate, part exasperated, part admiring. He’s not sure which he should believe.

From his spot on the floor, he’s dwarfed by Kisame, easily a full head taller than Shizuma. Nowhere near the size of Kyohou, but the knitted sweater does little to hide his hulking figure. He'd seen the blue skin sometimes too, when Shizuma was too exhausted to put chakra into his transformation jutsu, or when he had walked into the warehouse to find him chatting with the rest of his gang. Like Shizuma's (who, he sees now, must have dropped the transformation the moment he opened the door), his skin is flushed purple in the cold, but unlike Shizuma's, he has no scars. For a shinobi trained to live with a blade in his hands from birth to death, it feels almost alien. Something about the grey hair also still unnerves him, with the rare member of the Blood Mist generation still walking the streets bearing it as a badge of pride: I endured. I survived. Kisame's is now as white as his teeth, but his face is barely more lined than it was in his thirties. Perhaps he'd grown up used to scowling, and it had adapted itself to decades of grins.

(He does it even more than Shizuma, confirming that the jagged Teeth That Have Teeth run in the family. Kagura thinks of a small Shizuma, tiny but every bit as sharp and devious, and gains a new level of awe - and a this time it’s definitely pity- for the hardened criminals before him.)

Itachi is younger than his partner, significantly so, but the deep shadows under his eyes make it difficult to tell. Somehow the crows feet crinkling at the corner of his eyes make him look less tired than he did as a teenager, less dangerous. Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself - the edges of his silver streaked hair still glow red with the intensity of his Sharingan and Kagura is very relieved that Shizuma is adopted, because he knows that if he had inherited those bloody eyes he too with never turn them off. It was enough that he'd picked up his father's intense, calculating stare, looking him over from behind his glasses. He has enough scars to make up for his partner's, though nothing quite so severe as his son’s. Hundreds of silvery cuts across his hands and face, barely visible in this light - litte knicks from kunai or perhaps his crows’ talons, from the looks of the loose strands on the shoulder of his sweater.

Despite their efforts, waves of chakra radiated from them like heat - though since he only just noticed them, he wonders how strong those efforts really were. He wouldn’t put it past Shizuma’s parents to have their reasons to try and see if they could scare people away.

They smile as he meets their stares, one with far more teeth than the other. There’s genuine warmth, if not trust, to their welcome, and their eyes are fond as their gaze passes over the rest of the gang and reminds them about snacks. Neither of them flinch as the six shinobi rush past them, and simply nod for him to follow. 

Hebiichigo is already perched on the counter by the fruit bowl, stools completely ignored - Kagura should really be used to striped fabric by now. A similar set of stripes comes back through the door as Shizuma, Buntan and Hassaku come back in dry clothes (he’s fairly sure by the look of Buntan’s at least that they’re their own and not Shizuma’s, but with their dress sense it’s hard to tell). He sits down at the bench where Shizuma pats the spot beside him, and slowly raises his gaze from the twisted chunks of driftwood holding up the glass tabletop the the kitchen that even the rest of the squad hasn't dared to invade.Splashes of red are everywhere, from the old range cooker and kettles to the pipes that crawl up and down the wall. Between the bright patches and warm dimness of the house, it takes him a while to notice all the purple - the lavender was even more pervasive than the red, down to Kisame and Itachi’s nails. They watch them from their spot by a paint-chipped cabinet, sorting from a wicker basket overflowing with different boxes of tea, before returning to the stove.

Through the glass doors he can see a forest that looks very, very different to the one they walked through (he wonders which one is real). As the clouds part, he can see riggings and wires strung through the trees and thinks back to all the obstacle gameshow recordings piled in the living room. As he’s glancing at the persimmon tree, a spot of bright in the white and grey, that he spots Itachi - his eyes flick back the the kitchen, and swears he can hear Kisame chuckling. Itachi has wandering out onto the deck to the sharp drop where timber meets the clouds, turning the wheel against the wall to pull in one of the wires that stretched across to the taller pines. It’s only then that he notices the shadows are crows, dozens of them, perched silently on the wire as Itachi reels them in, palm open with seeds and dried fruit. He turns back to the group, now debating on whether it’s too late for a round of ice hockey on the frozen lake (and if the sleeper sharks would be bothered), and isn’t even surprised to see Itachi back in the kitchen. 

When he hears the scrabbling of nails on the floorboards, he’s almost certain it would be Samehada (despite Shizuma’s insistence that it was being dogsit by Bee). So he is genuinely shocked to see three doors staring up at him. Actual dogs. With fur. And four legs. And no feathers or scales. They tense as Kagura meets their eyes, and Itachi quietly advises against staring them down - they were raised to see people as enemies, and that while they’re learning to trust, some things take time. They trail after Kisame and Itachi as they retreat to the living room. Shizuma calls them rescue dogs, which seems far too light a term for their state - fur pulls back to reveal scars on muscle, one of them looks back with a single eye, and all of their teeth are needle sharp. He remembers how Kiri need used to work at the fighting pits of the Coliseum - the dogs were a warm up for the main betting event of kekkei genkai users. But that had been in the past, before Sasuke Uchiha had liberated them thirteen years ago. 

The dogs continue to eye him warily, but settle as they snuggle up to the criminals beside them, warming their bones by the fireside. The colourful colours and knitted dog sweaters don’t hide the scars, but they seem to give them comfort. He glances back at the strange family before him - at the glowing eyes, the gills, the scars, the secrecy. Then at the group of misfits laughing over the table. He sips his tea and lets himself rest against the table.

Comforting or frightening. Maybe it could be both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by esmeraldablazingsky (Which I am still screaming incoherently over)

The second time Kagura visits the Hoshigaki household is at least a little bit less nerve-racking. He knows what to expect, so it's not all going to be a surprise this time, but he's still unsettled, staring off into space as the group traverses the snowy forest. Up ahead, there's a chorus of gleeful shouting as Hassaku attempts to shove a snowball down Ichirouta’s shirt. However, the noise doesn't obscure the sound of Buntan's footsteps slowing as she drops back beside Kagura. She's making noise on purpose and it shows, but Kagura can't make himself feel anything but grateful.

  
“Still nervous?” she asks with a sharp-toothed grin. Her voice is teasing but the sparkle in her eyes is all sympathy as she punches Kagura's shoulder gently, smiling.

  
“I felt like that too,” she says, like she's letting him in on a secret. “It was a long time ago, though. It gets easier once Shizuma's parents make you tea enough times, don't worry.”

  
Kagura doesn't say anything but Buntan's comments smooth some of the sharp ripples of anxiety in his chest. He isn't alone in this.

  
Shizuma's parents’ house still smells like persimmons and firewood, the darkness of the entrance hall made familiar by warmth and amber light. Kagura takes off his snow-encrusted shoes and puts them aside, letting the frost melt from his bones as he stands in the hallway and breathes in the energy of this place that's almost starting to feel like home. He'd stayed the night the first time he came here but had barely slept, unable to shake the tension that seemed wired in his body, unchangeable.

  
The smell of chamomile tea drifts from the kitchen as Kagura crosses his legs and sits staring into the fire, letting the motion lull him into something like peace.

  
Itachi broadcasts his movements when he enters the room, his footsteps audible and his effort not unnoticed by Kagura, who can't help but freeze up a little once those crimson eyes meet his and Itachi is only a few feet away, sitting down beside him and holding out a cup of tea.

  
From across the room, Buntan catches Kagura's eye and smiles. It'll get easier, Kagura reminds himself. He takes the cup with a murmured thank-you and there's a pleased little flicker of expression on Itachi's face for just a moment before it retreats to linger in his eyes.

  
He's wearing a different sweater, thinks Kagura. It’s dango-colored, three pastel stripes diminishing the intimidating aura that seems to occupy the space around Itachi. Kagura wouldn't doubt it if someone told him Itachi had done that on purpose.

  
“You look stressed,” says Itachi, and Kagura doubts it even less. He doesn't quite know what to say to that, but a smile tugs on the corner of Itachi's mouth and he taps the side of Kagura’s teacup before standing up and suddenly vanishing, as if Kagura had blinked and he had left the room.

  
He'd forgotten to be nervous, Kagura realizes. Kisame is humming in the kitchen and the scarlet dimness of the room feels like a lullaby and all of a sudden Kagura feels like he could fall asleep, like he's not even scared to close his eyes.

  
He curls up on the cushions until Kisame's voice announces dinner and they all crowd around the table, shoulders brushing in electric jolts of familiarity.  
Kisame is talkative and friendly, cracking jokes that make the entire table groan collectively and keeping the conversation going with stories and lighthearted banter. He smiles at Kagura when he says things sometimes, an all-teeth grin that would be terrifying if it didn't reach his eyes.

  
But it does, and Kagura finds himself smiling back.

  
“He seems like a good kid,” says Kisame to Shizuma, nodding at Kagura, who feels like he might be blushing a little. “Don't scare him off.”

  
“If anyone's scaring him it's you,” says Shizuma without an ounce of seriousness. He laughs and it's a sound just as warm as the savory-scented air, accompanied by his arm around Kagura’s waist.

  
“Really, though,” says Kisame.

  
“I'll try,” says Shizuma honestly, but Kagura doesn't hear a single word he says through the sudden fuzzy repetition of he's touching me he's touching me oh my god that's his arm and he's touching me that suddenly fills every space between his thoughts. Itachi’s bloodred eyes rest on Kagura's sudden blank expression and crinkle slightly at the corners. He knows.

  
Itachi locks eyes with Kisame and then he knows, too, and his smile as he looks at Kagura across the table is blindingly fond.

\---

The guest room is as full of bunk beds as it had been the first time Kagura had seen it, except this time the blankets on the one labeled as his are different. Hand-knitted turtle patterns cover the top layer, and the soft sheets underneath match Kagura’s shirt. There are pajamas folded on the end of the bed, too, and they're his size.

  
In any other context, it would be unnerving, but Kagura takes a deep breath and smiles to himself. This is his now, a place in the Hoshigaki household and the sense of belonging that comes with it.

  
Seven misfit children take their places in a family that welcomes them home whenever they choose to arrive, and the lights go out of their own accord but it's okay because the room is warm and the silence is broken by the sound of soft breaths against softer pillows.

  
They talk until the sun threatens to rise and then the murmurs die out into a quiet that rests over the room like so many feathers, falling like the snow outside.

  
The second time Kagura visits the Hoshigaki household is when it stops feeling like a visit and starts feeling like a homecoming. He wakes up without a sudden spike of panic, only stopping to wonder why the air smells like pancakes, and closes his eyes again to savor the moment.

  
Sunlight reflects off the snow on the windowsill, and Kisame is humming downstairs, and Kagura forgets his nervousness and smiles. Buntan was right. It gets easier.

 

~end~


End file.
